You Can Run
by Apocalyptic-Mess
Summary: When the Winchester's house started on fire, free time for thought wasn't spared. Which left young Jayde to the hell-fire. John thought that she was dead, but fourteen years later, Sam, Dean and their father take a job that's far too close to home.
1. Footsteps

You Can Run . . .

**Summary:** When their house started on fire, Mary was in Sam's room, Dean had to save Sam, and John was just trying to protect his family. What if Sam and Dean had a sister that was never mentioned; the family secret? John thought that she was dead, but fourteen years later, Sam, Dean and their father take a job that's far too close to home

**A/N:** _**Hey, so I know that there are A LOT of Winchester sister stories, but this one just wouldn't get out of my head, and I've got a few ideas to make mine unique, so yeah. ^-^ Please enjoy! And review, if you want.**_

**Footsteps**

Lawrence, Kansas

22 years ago

Mommy walked slowly ahead of me down the hallway, glancing back and smiling as I followed along while she carried Dean. All I could do was smile and giggle. She gave her own wide, caring smile as she turned into Sammy's room and turned on the light. Dean just sat motionless in Mom's arms.

"Come on, let's go say goodnight to your brother." I could see Sammy, my little baby brother, squirming in his crib. He gave a few soft gurgles that could almost be mistaken for a gurgled giggle and went silent. Mommy gazed at Dean, Sammy and I with adoring eyes.

Dean turned pleading eyes on Mommy and smiled. "Can I say goodnight to Sammy?"

"Sure Dean," Mommy smiled and put Dean down on the floor, and I grabbed a fist full of fabric from her pants and tugged on them.

"Mhmm me wanna say nighty to Sammy!" I pleaded and while Dean ran over to the crib and kissed Sammy's forehead, Mommy picked me up and let me lean over him. I was still amazed that someone so small could still be alive.

"Night, Sam," Dean whispered.

I patted Sammy on the forehead and grasped at his fingers. "Nighty-night." I whispered, while Mom leaned down and kissed Sammy. "Night, love," She said softly.

"Hey Dean, Jayde," Dad stood in the doorway to the nursery, and Dean and I turned around immediately.

"Daddy!" We cried and ran towards him. He picked us up as if we were as light as a feather.

"Oof. Holy Dean, how much chocolate have you eaten today? And Jayde . . . well, you're just prettier every second." I giggled and Dean just rolled his eyes at me. "You're gonna be a heart breaker when you're older."

"Eww . . ." I mimicked Dean's disgusted expression perfectly.

Dean glared at Daddy with mock hatred. "They have to go through me and Sammy before that happens." Mommy and Daddy laughed.

"Hey buddy," Daddy said to Dean as I wiggled and Mommy took me from Daddy's arms. "Ooh, so what do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football?"

"No, Daddy," Dean said in response, grinning.

"No," Daddy replied in agreement, smiling and running a hand through Dean's hair.

"You got 'em?" Mary asked softly, patting Dean's back before turning to glance one last time at Sammy.

"I got 'em," John said affirmatively. "Sweet dreams, Sam," he said before pulling the door closed, taking one last glance at Sammy.

I stirred softly as I heard Mommy walking down the hallway, calling out for Daddy. She peeked into my room to make sure I was asleep, and I snapped my eyes closed.

"I saw that, Jayde. Now it's bed time," Mommy said, and she took a few steps until she was standing beside my bed. I peeked between my lashes as she knelt beside my bed. I giggled as she kissed my cheek and snuggled my nose into my pillow. "Night, Jayde; the angels are watching over you. I love you."

"Love you too, Mommy," I said happily and closed my eyes again. I was all but comatose by the time she shut the door.

There was a few minutes of silence, and I nodded off. I heard Mommy asking Daddy if Sammy was hungry, and then nothing for a few more minutes.

The thing that startled me into consciousness was the sound of panicked feet pounding against the ground; running. And Mommy was calling Sammy's name. I bolted up in my bed and yawned. Did Mommy forget to turn the stove off again? Or did Dean spill something on the carpet?

I could hear as she burst into Sammy's room, which was right next to mine.

I closed my eyes.

One . . .

Silence. Mommy's footstep had stopped.

Two . . .

A footstep. Only one.

Three-

Mommy screamed. I could hear . . . so much, all of it in fast forward and slow motion. Daddy was calling mommy's name and I wanted Dean to come into my room and hold my hand, like he did whenever I was scared. I wanted my big brother.

But then Mommy's screams stopped, and I couldn't hear anything anymore. I heard Daddy open Sammy's door and heard him sigh, but I couldn't think. Where was Mommy? I heard Daddy walk over to Sammy's crib; the walls are paper thin in this house. And then he started talking to Sammy.

And then Daddy screamed too, and I didn't know what to do anymore. I was so confused, and everyone screaming was scaring me and I just wanted my big brother to tell me not to be scared... The hallway was lighting up with flickering light, and my soft whimpers joined the screams.

_Dean_, I chant continuously in my mind. _Dean, Dean, Dean . . . where are you, big brother?_

And then more running, and more footsteps, and Dean's little feet were pounding past my door, but he didn't stop. He didn't open it. He ran straight past, and Sammy's screaming and Daddy is still yelling Mommy's name, but now he's out in the hallway, and I was positive that he's going to come and get me now, because I was scared and lost, and I didn't know what's happening, but nothing happened.

"Daddy!" 

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can; don't look back." Daddy's being so loud, and I've never heard him scared before, but I know he's scared now. "Now, Dean; go!"

And then there are more footsteps. Softer . . . slower . . . and I wondered how I could hear them with my hands clamped over my ears and Daddy screaming for Mommy and my sobs that were slowly getting louder and louder.

Then the door opened. Orange, flickering light fills my room, and I choked on the heat and the smoke and it was all I can do to not double over at the felling of suffocating filling my lungs.

It wasn't Daddy coming to save me.

The footsteps get closer to my bed, but my face is buried in my pillow.

One . . .

Dean's not coming to help me. I'm scared. Where's Mommy? Where's Daddy?

Two . . .

The footsteps stop. I know not to open my eyes.

Three . . .

Yellow eyes are all I remember before the pain and confusion send me over the edge.

_Dean didn't even tell me that everything was going to be okay . . ._

I fell into the darkness.

**A/N:**_** So if you want to review but don't know what to say, just tell me how you like it so far, and what's so similar or different about other stories you've read. Thanks! ^-^**_

*~*Courtney*~*


	2. Jayde Riley

**Jayde Riley**

I awoke from my dream—my nightmare—without even screaming. Screaming might have caused Jack or Kevin to wake, and if they woke up I wouldn't be able to get any sleep for the next three days because of the pain they would inflict. Staring straight ahead of me at the closed and flimsily locked wooden door, I held my breath when I heard the wind sway the rocking chair into the side of the house, praying that it hadn't woken anyone.

No matter how horrible my nightmare might seem in the pressing darkness of night, as I cowered in my lumpy uneven bed, I knew to expect that outside my door there were more frightening things to fear than nightmares. I almost wished that my nightmares were real; they never _started_ as nightmares. It started almost happily. Sometimes, I wished I could understand who these people were and if it was in fact a memory from my youth; from before my parents had given me up for adoption.

Hell, I didn't even know if I'd ever had a brother, let alone what his name was, and if I'd had a little brother at all. I never remember names, though I know these people in my nightmare have them. All I can remember from when I was little was that there had been a fire and that I came out alive and I never saw my family again. I don't even know my real last name, and the one time I thought I'd gotten it—_Winchester_, the name painted on the mailbox in my dream—I'd hacked into the local polices' hard drive and had searched country-wide for any missing, lost or dead children named Jayde Winchester. Nothing. Not even a birth certificate to indicate that she was actually a real person, and that that girl might be me.

I paused in fearful anticipation as I heard the wood groan softly above me. I stared up at what little I could make out of the ceiling and waited, my heart pounding in my chest. I hadn't made any noise, not even the tiniest whimper when I'd rolled over on my jammed shoulder. If Jack was awake, I had no hope in hell of getting back to sleep tonight. I squeezed my eyes shut tight against the darkness.

Normal _families_ don't torture their adopted children. A _normal_ _father_ doesn't rape his daughter; neither does a boy rape his adopted sister. This was the life I was stuck with. This was my reality, my nightmarish, fucked up reality.

I was stuck with my nightmares. My fake last name, my fake happy family, my fake hopes—and all my real scars. Jayde Riley was the girl who was beaten and raped regularly but could still manage to go to school with a broken smile on her face. Jayde Riley was the girl who could see things in her nightmares before they actually happened, although she was helpless to stop them.

Jayde Riley was the girl I'd grown up as, and it wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

But, seeing as I _was_ Jayde Riley bad-girl extraordinaire, I'd always felt entitled to those little few moments that I could be 100% truly _me_. I didn't know exactly who that was; I didn't think I'd ever know, but I still craved those few moments that I could be a teenager. Was it so ridiculous for me to ask for that?

Just ask; because although I prayed, I wished, I begged and pleaded and sobbed until I could speak anymore, I never got what I asked for. I felt like a little kid at Christmas whose only wish was for something as simple as a flower from the neighbour's garden, and instead I'd gotten a razor blade. An item that—when given to a child—would only cause pain, no matter how careful they tried to be.

For me, though, with my luck I'd been given _two_. Somehow they'd learned to fight back.

_Fuck you, stupid razor blades_, I silently seethed at the rotting wooden floor above my head. Seeing as my luck hadn't started at any point in time, not only had I been given two razor blades to deal with, but I'd also been lent a straw. The most you can do with a straw is poke someone's eye out; and even that doesn't work that well.

Kevin Riley. The biological son. The 'wanted one'. I don't understand how this family would have taken me in if I wasn't wanted in the first place. Couldn't they have showed some sympathy and given me to a family that actually wanted _me_? A young daughter who, although going through the anticipated teenage rebellious stage, was well-minded and polite? _But then who would be there to take the brunt of violence from the Riley family?_ I knew I couldn't answer that question. If it wasn't me, it would have been some other helpless girl. A girl who might not have had the same self-preservation that I did. Even though I wanted so badly to go to the cops—oh god, how badly I wanted to go—but I knew that if I did, nothing would change. I would just be replaced by another girl, another person who had no one else.

Another girl just like me.

Mona Riley. The straw. The mother figure; and trust me, she's definitely not the ideal role model. She's the one who sits by while all this is happening to her adopted daughter; smoking, drinking, and encouraging her husband and son with the kind of behaviours that they don't even condone in prison cells. More than even Jack or Kevin, I wished her dead. She could save me, but I know she won't.

Jack Riley. The Devil. Lucifer. Satan in disguise. I'm almost tempted to take that back, because I think even _Satan_ has more mercy than the thing which they call Jack. Maybe though Jack's related to the Devil . . . I mean hey, they share black eyes and everything. The first time I'd seen Jack's black eyes, I hadn't questioned it. My mind played tricks on me all the time already; maybe I was going all Amityville Horror and my mind—or some random demonic forces—was trying to get me to kill my '_family_'. I had to admit, it wasn't such a bad idea.

But freedom from jail can't be achieved—that easily, at the very least. Freedom from '_home_' can. I think I'd be safer in jail than here anyway. Safer, maybe, but definitely warmer.

When I clutched the shredded quilt closer around myself, I could feel the strain and pressure of every single bruise, every cut and scrap dragging along the rough, worn material. The chilling cold of my cellar room caused all the breaks and fractures I'd ever had to throb and pulse painfully.

No matter what the damn doctors tell you, you never fully heal. Pain and healing aren't just psychological.

It didn't help that many of the breaks had _medically_ healed and then been re-broken shortly after. It probably didn't help the 'healing process.'

Bones weren't the only things of mine that had been broken. And still, each day, I woke up in the morning, I got ready for school, and I plastered a smile on my face. Not because I had too.

Because I knew. I knew that this wouldn't last my entire life, and that somewhere, there was something better for me. Or . . . at least, I hoped. That's what set me apart from everyone else. I had hope. I may not have had innocence, or family, or my virginity, but I had hope.

I just didn't know how much longer that would hold back the demons waiting just beyond the doors.

**A/N: **_**If anyone has any questions or something that they'd like me to clarify, just ask! I'd be glad to answer them. ^-^ Sorry if these chapters are a bit short, they WILL be longer once I get into the story! THANKS!**_

*~*Courtney*~*


	3. LoveHate

**A/N: **_**Hey unfortunate people reading this story! I know people usually don't read these, but whatever. I'm really sorry it took me so long to update, but I just got a job, my social life has dwindled to almost nothing and my writing time has all but disappeared. So I'm sorry, but here. ^-^ Be happy now! R&R, if you'd like! **_

**Love/Hate**

_. . . where are you, big brother?_

When I woke up the next morning to the quiet _beep-beep_ of my watch, I couldn't help but steal a few seconds of teenage angst. I rolled over on my lumpy cot and groaned. _School_. I tried to console myself with the fact that at least I only had two more years of soul-crushing torture, but still, it seemed like forever. And I knew my nightmares wouldn't stop any time soon.

I laid on the cot (because I couldn't call it a bed) until I heard the shower start, signalling that about ten minutes to get ready. Seeing as I'm forced to walk to school, I always know to leave right after Kevin's car backs out of the driveway. No face-to-face confrontations. Even though I walk and Kevin drives, I somehow manage to beat him to school every morning without fail.

Today would be like any other ridiculously long and boring day, and I was only comforted by the fact that I wouldn't be the only kid to undergo the torture they call education. It wasn't even that I hated learning; I just hated going to school. Everything that I'd ever been taught that was worth something I'd learned from books or from personal experience. School seemed unnecessary to me.

Still, every morning I tried to hope for something better. For something exciting to happen. I hoped.

With that thought in mind, I rolled out of bed and traded the shredded, dirty Pjs for my newly washed jeans and an AC/DC band tee. As I stared into the cracked mirror in the corner of my dusty, grim room, I sighed, realizing today was just like any other day. My blonde hair was still curly and uncooperative; my expression stagnant and uninterested and my clothes dull and overused. The only thing that caused me to stand out was my eyes—I had one green eye and one blue one. It wasn't _coo l_—at least, _other people_ didn't think it was. People just reinforced it as another reason I was a freak. I turned away from my reflection and slipped on my black and red flip-flops, grabbing my notebook and purse. I waited in front of my door for the sound of Kevin's pounding feet. Five seconds later, I heard an engine start and the sound of tires screeching against pavement.

_There's my cue_. I opened the wooden door silently and tiptoed up the cellar steps, the only source of light coming from underneath the door at the top of the stairs, shining brightly through a kitchen window. I waited until the car engine's drone had faded to open the door at the top of the steps and step into the semi-brightness of the morning. I paused, listening for any source of noise from the remaining razor blade or the straw. Nothing.

With a sigh of relief, I darted out the front door and didn't turn back as it slammed shut. _Freedom_. Well, temporary freedom, anyway.

_Only two more years, Jayde. Two more years . . ._

I gave a delicious laugh as my feet pounded down the sidewalk, towards my second personal Hell.

Maybe I shouldn't have run all the way to school. Sure, I'd arrived with plenty of time to spare—and I'd made it before Kevin—but I hadn't eaten since lunch _yesterday_ and my empty stomach was rolling and churning painfully.

I loved and hated the fact that I had English class in the morning—I loved it because it was my favourite class, but that also meant I had nothing to look forward too throughout the day. Today it was no different.

Or so I thought.

I walked into the class room and smiled at my teacher, a lady that I'm pretty sure knew there was something going on with me that I just refused to admit. She didn't know how right she was. Today though she was talking to a kid and she didn't return my smile. I dimly wondered why the kid was here—hadn't Jr. High classes already started?—but I ignored it and turned to my seat in the back. Still, from my seat in the back I could make out the kid and I discreetly stared at him. He looked awkward and out of place, and I sympathized with him, knowing the feeling. When he turned his head around, almost sensing someone's gaze on him it seemed like, I noticed his sweet expression and sad eyes. He looked like the perfect little brother, and he was just so goddamn _adorable_. Like a little puppy that I just wanted to hug. Something about the kid caused a tingle of recognition to shock through my body, and I shivered at the intensity of it. The kid had scruffy brown hair, baggy clothes and the sweetest puppy eyes. The urge to jump up and give him a hug was almost overwhelming.

That would have been a little creepy though, so I held back and just sat there as the bell rang. I was confused when the kid didn't leave—I really shouldn't have referred to him as a kid; he looked about thirteen or fourteen—but still, I just sat there. Ms. Blas got up from her seat and stood in front of the room, waiting for us to quiet down. "We have a new student today, and now normally I wouldn't stand up here and introduce them, but I guess this is a special case." Now, it may just have been my premature motherly instincts kicking in, but when I heard some of my fellow classmates giggling and chuckling, my heart bled for the kid. It was bad enough that he'd come in the middle of the year, but the fact that he obviously wasn't even old enough to be in this class gave even _more_ ammunition to the class bullies.

I stared at the kid incredulously. He looked barely old enough to be in High School, let alone in grade 11. He must have been some super genius or something.

"Class, this is Sam Winchester." Sam. If the kid wasn't annoying, or immature, maybe I'd try and make friends with him. _Sammy, Sammich, SamSam_ . . . Oh the nickname possibilities were endless. "Sam transferred from Benson, Arizona. Now, before you brats"—SamSam's eyes widened considerably at the title but the rest of the class acknowledged the fact that it was an endearment—"start in with the tormenting and bullying, I'd like to point out that this kid had the brains to go up almost two grade levels. I'd watch my back if I were you." I'm not sure if I was the only one who noticed the way Sammich flinched or the slight blush brought up by the comment. I tried to catch Sammy's eye, but he kept them averted. Not only from me but from everybody in the room.

It seemed that I had another thing in common with little Sammy Winchester. What secret did he have to keep? One that he knew others would see and possibly recognize in his eyes. I could tell that much.

When Ms. Blas motioned for Sammich to take a seat, it's like a hundred different scenarios popped into my minds-eye, all of them resulting in Sammy being made a fool of. As Sammy raised his head to survey the class, I at last caught his eye and smiled. He seemed a little taken aback, but then he ducked his head and made his way to the empty desk beside me. At the last second, I noticed that Derrick Matthews, the idiot child located in the desk in front of me, had stuck out his foot, conveniently positioned for Sammy to trip on. I grabbed my heavy Chemistry book and hit the back of Derrick's as hard as I could. When he yelled out in pain and began cradling my head, Sammich jumped over his foot and took the seat next to me. As the other students looked at me in surprise—and Ms. Blas gave me a secret smile of rebellious approval—I just shrugged my shoulders. "I thought I saw a fly." While the rest of the class snickered at me and at the pained expression on Derrick's face, I remained stagnant. "Although, I guess it might have just been lice or something."

When the person sitting next to Derrick inched away, I thought of my job as completed. "I'm Sam," Sammy said quietly, holding out his hand. I glanced at it wearily before taking it.

"Jayde." I gave SamSam a quick smile before ducking my head back in my notebook.

Once Ms. Blas had laid out the assignment for us to complete—one that I'd conveniently already completed—I started doodling in my notebook. Me not being one for sugar and rainbows and dancing unicorn fairies, when I drew, I tended to draw an excess of blood and gore. Not that I was ashamed of my work (I wasn't half bad at drawing, but it always felt personal to me), but today I was having a hard time of shielding my work from Sammy's wandering gaze. I don't know if he was intentionally trying to see what I was drawing, but I couldn't help my constant twitch to cover my pencil sketch and glance around.

"Hey," I glanced up to see Sam's curious gaze and for one insane moment I got the feeling that those green eyes had witnessed more sorrow and torture than that of an experienced war veteran. 

I closed my notebook out of habit and sat up relatively straight. "Yeah?"

Sam suddenly looked self conscious under my gaze and he shuffled some papers and picked up and put down his pencil. After a second, he sighed and looked at me. "I . . . you didn't have to do that. I can take care of myself."

"Okay,"

"Okay?" He looked like he didn't believe me.

I just blinked and continued to stare at him. "Yeah, Sam. Okay. I'm sure you _can_ take care of yourself, I just get sick of Derrick's constant bullying."

"Well," Sam paused and scrunched his eyebrows. I held back the little smile playing at the corner of my lips. "Well," he repeated. "I just, I wanted to say thanks—"

This was just too close to a chick flick moment for me. "Dude, don't worry about it. Seriously."

"Yeah, but—" Sam started, but I cut him off immediately.

"Dude." I said warningly, giving him my intense, stop-right-there look. "Seriously. Don't worry about it."

The expression on Sam's face was one of recognition. With a smile, Sam announced quietly, "You remind me of my brother." Then he snorted and turned back to his assignment. "I can't imagine you two in the same room together. He'd like you."

I chuckled absentmindedly and opened my notebook back up, glancing one last time at Sam and feeling that weird tingle of fading recognition. In fact, I felt very sure that Sam's brother definitely would _not_ like me. And if he did . . .

_Well, now _there's_ a scary thought._

**So, introducing Sammy! See, even Jayde has that protective instinct of little Sammich. ^-^ I think he'd be the perfect little brother too . . . **

**Next chapter:**** should it be another chapter about Jayde, or do you want to see Dean and Jayde meeting?**

*~*Courtney*~*


	4. Teenage Dropout

**A/N: **_**Hey... So... I probably should have updated sooner.**_

_**In my defence, my baby cousin Brynnleigh Logan (but I refer to her as Bree) was born while I was working on this chapter, and so I stopped writing and I TOTALLY forgot about it. But I'm happy to say my baby cousin is here now, and she's totally in love with me (the only way she stops crying is if I hold her) and so I've just been busy between school, work, baby-holding, and basic Supernaturality. **_

_**So... here's the chapter! ^-^ I'm not that happy with it, because I SUCK at writing from Dean's PoV, but it'll do for now. At least until I can go back and totally redo it. Still, I hope you enjoy it. And please R&R!**_

**Teenage Dropout**

Dad really didn't know what he was talking about. He was always pestering Sammy, bugging him about hunting and school. About wanting his own life.

Seeing Sam's tired, worn out face caused an uncomfortable feeling deep in my gut. "Dad doesn't even know what he's saying, Sammy." I told my little brother casually, walking slightly in front of him so I wouldn't have to see the slightly heartbroken, extremely pissed off expression on his face.

"Just stop, Dean. Dad knows _exactly_ what he's saying." Sam snappy retort left no room for a response, so I just glanced over my shoulder at him and frowned. It was an expression Sam knew meant I was slightly disappointed in him, and he carefully adverted his eyes, staring instead at the looming gray and brown brick building that would be our new school for probably . . . two weeks? Maybe less, depending on how long Dad took to kill the Shape Shifter he was hunting a town over.

Shrugging, I just continued my steady pace, while Sam's still-growing legs stumbled to keep up. "Well, thank god we won't be here long enough for it to matter."

I waited for the usual whiny arguments from Sam, the 'oh yeah, and why can't Dad let us stay longer?' 'Why do we always have to leave?' 'Why can't we just be _normal_?'

But . . .

Nothing. From the glimpse I got of Sam's expression, I couldn't tell if he was ignoring me or just totally lost in La-La-land. I hopped up the few steps to the schools front door and was almost immediately knocked down by a blur of blonde hair and black clothes. I stopped, Sammy running into me, but the girl didn't even turn back. She pushed through the door right in front of me, not even slowing down from her steady run. I grumbled a few choice words at her retreating back. Maybe—

I opened the door, letting Sam in front of me. He stared at the girl and then back at me. "Please don't bring her home." The serious note of Sam's voice and his fixed gaze hinted to me that he wasn't joking, but I hid a smile and punched his shoulder.

"Ha-ha, very funny."

Sam cracked a smile at that.

Really, I was just trying to waste time. No matter how old Sam was, how old _I_ was, Sammy would always be my little brother and I hated ever having to leave his side. We'd had our timetables sent to the apartment (for once we'd been able to afford an apartment, for a little while, at least), and now we just had to find our classes.

I knew that as long as I just stood there, Sam wasn't going to go find his classes either. I yearned to just tell Sammy that we should ditch, just leave school, leave town and never look back. But that would mean leaving Dad, and that thought didn't sit well with me. For Sammy, running away was just another part of being in the Winchesters family. Running away, to me, was betrayal, but it was also a sign that I couldn't stop him. That I couldn't protect my little brother and then he was gone.

Gathering up all the resolve in my bones, I playfully pushed Sammy's shoulder. "We better get to class."

Sam gave me his concerned, condescending expression. "Why? Because you got detention last week before we were even enrolled at the school?"

It was better than my own pathetic reasoning's, so I just shrugged and smiled. "Yeah, whatever."

Sighing in resignation, Sam turned his sad puppy-dog eyes on my and I felt the smile come undone, just a little. "Fine," he directed a half-hearted glare at me, "but you better not bring any girls home. Dad said I was supposed to make sure you didn't."

The expression in Sam's eyes told me he knew it was a redundant task, but he'd try anyway. _Why_ he'd try I couldn't fathom. Must have been that stupid, stubborn Winchester gene.

Sam—and Dad; kind of—knew me far too well. "Good luck with that, Sammy." I replied, giving a short laugh before walking off, my back turned on Sam.

"It's _Sam_!" He growled sharply from behind me; I just laughed louder.

As I contemplated my timetable silently, I mindlessly wandered around the school, creating the potential for a situation in which I would probably end up plummeting down a flight of stairs.

I _really_ didn't want to go to class.

The only thing I had to look forward throughout the day was lunch. And, well, maybe I could find a girl to bringhome. Just to piss of Sammy.

The day was looking better already.

School was Hell.

Within the first three classes of the day, I'd not only managed to get the head cheerleader to loathe me, but I also had been assigned three extra math assignments because of my 'disruptive behaviour', and had landed myself in eleventh grade Social class. Sam was never going to let me live this down.

That was going to totally suck.

When I got to the class, I really just wanted to find a seat and sleep for the next three days. Winchesters were prone to bad luck though, and that apparently wasn't going to give me a break today. When I opened the class door, where there had been buzzing voices before, there was now only abrupt silence. Complete, absolute, total silence. Everyone was staring at me, and though I was mentally screaming curse words in my head, I put on a smile and winked at the cute girl in the second row, completely ignoring my peers stares as I gave the slip of paper to the old, wrinkling teacher, who was now also staring at me.

Is it bad that I felt like pulling out my knife and killing them all?

The teacher, Mr. Lau, didn't even glance at the paper. He mumbled, "Dean Winchester, welcome to Social class. Take a seat."

That was it. That was my introduction to the class, and I bet anyone who'd been farther than two feet away from him hadn't even heard him. It made me feel a little better to know that no one would know that I was supposed to be a senior.

When I turned to scan the room for an empty seat though, the smile just about fell off my face. At the very back of the class, I recognized the chick who'd almost crashed into me and Sam this morning. And, lucky me, the seat right next to her was the only one left.

Somewhere between me standing at the front of the room and actually taking the first step, an automatic switch went off and the class started again. It was like the whole silence thing hadn't even happened, and no one was looking at me anymore. No one, that is, except for that girl. The whole five seconds it took me to reach her desk she was just staring at me. It was different than the way the rest of the class stared at me; theirs' were curious, surprised. This girl . . . her stare was calculating, sizing me up, almost like the way wild animals stare at each other, assessing each other as either allies or competition for food. When I reached the pair of desks as which she sat, she gave a subtle, quick nod.

Apparently, I wasn't competition.

The girl was, at the very least, very pretty. She had blonde curly hair, and I had to resist the urge to reach over and pull it, kind of like an annoying little brother would do. She had a pretty face with a small nose and the weirdest eyes. Looking at her from the front of the class I hadn't been able to tell, but now that I was standing right beside her, I could see that one of her eyes was bright blue, while the other was a clear green.

The one thing that made me almost immediately like her was the fact that she was wearing an AC/DC band shirt, one of my favourite bands. I gave her a charming smile for that. "Mind if I sit here, Angus?" I gestured to her shirt when a flicker of confusion lit her eyes.

For a second the girl looked like she wanted to say 'no', and from the look in her eyes I could tell it wasn't because she was being rude, but because she didn't want the company. After another second though, she smiled. "You could," she said slowly, "but the last guy who sat there went missing." She mimicked something almost like a bomb exploding with her hands and whispered 'poof.' I had the abrupt urge to snigger. Mockingly, she muttered, "But if you _do_ sit down, I'll tell you a secret."

Something about this girl should have immediately freaked me the hell out, but I wasn't a hunter in training for nothing; instead, all I wanted to do was smile and laugh. Immediately, I knew this chick probably had very few friends, another thing that should have made me instantly cautious. Usually, there was a reason kids avoided the weirdos; Sam and I included.

That fact made me like her even more, though. Not even as a potential make-out partner or anything, but as possibly an actual (and I used this term loosely) friend. As sad as it was to think, if she didn't have many friends, no one would believe her if she was ever suspicious of our family. And who knew? Maybe I could keep in touch with her. Dad had forbidden it, but that was one rule I didn't necessarily agree with.

The chick's (I really needed to learn her name) gaze was challenging. I slowly sat down.

"So," I started. "Is it one of those 'if you tell me, you'll have to kill me' kind of secrets?"

She shrugged, glancing down at her notebook and writing something down. "I guess so. I mean, I told the last guy who sat beside me, and I had to kill him, so . . ."

The words should have caused me to take out my knife, yet there was something still so innocent about her gaze and the tone of her voice that I just sat there, fighting the urge to laugh. I could see a lot of things in her eyes—pain, loneliness, sorrow—but I didn't see craziness. Chuckling, I said, "Is that so, sweetheart? I bet I could change your mind."

In that one second, her smile fell, her back straightened, and her eyes glazed over. It seemed any chance of companionship had failed with the unwelcome nickname and unintentional innuendo. "My name is _Jayde_. And just so you know, that guy who went missing? He was my boyfriend." Pulling her chair as far away from me as possible, she went back to her books. "And don't you _dare_ think I'm 'one-of-those' girls."

I sat there in sudden shock. I truly had thought she—well, _Jayde_—was joking about the guy who'd went missing. Instinct told me that _she_ hadn't killed him or had anything to do with his disappearance, but something else in her eyes said she _knew_. As for her misinterpreting my comment, I hadn't even used the Winchester smile on her or anything!

Looking up at the board to see the assignments for the day, I accidently caught Mr. Lau's eye. He held up the slip of paper and gave a sly smile and I suddenly wanted to gouge his eyes out. "Mr. Winchester." He called when I ducked my head. His raised voice caught the rest of the class's attention and a few kids glanced back at me. "Miss. Riley will be your tutor for this class."

I glanced hopefully at the hot girl in the second row I'd winked at, but she was glaring in my direction with envy. But her gaze wasn't focused on me, it was focused on Jayde, the girl sitting beside me, the girl who was glaring at Mr. Lau with her mouth hanging open in shock. She let her forehead hit the desk with a loud 'thud.' I heard her mutter, "Oh my god . . ."

Fuck my life.

**A/N: **_**I'd love it if you could send me a review, just telling me your basic thoughts and what not. Tell me what I did wrong, please, because I know this chapter is definitely not one of my best. **_

_**Cheers! ^-^**_

***~*Courtney*~***


	5. Only Just Slightly

**Only Just Slightly**

I was in love.

At least, by the end of the day, I was pretty _sure_ that I was in love. I was never one to believe in love at first sight, but the first time I'd seen little Sammy Winchester, I think I felt something.

Maybe. Possibly. Just a little bit.

He was like the kid brother I'd never had, but always wanted. There was even an almost familiar kinship that I shared with him.

Almost automatically, SamSam sat beside me in all the classes we had together. A little bit because no one else ever wanted to sit beside me, but mostly because, after word had gotten out of how I'd 'stood up' to Derrick for Sammy, no one wanted to sit beside _him_ either. I kind of felt bad for that, but I knew that by tomorrow, everyone would have forgotten about it. Everyone, except for Kevin. He'd caught my eye when he'd bumped into me in the hallway earlier, and the only words I can find in the English language that could describe the look in his eyes were 'hungry' and 'dangerous.'

I could probably start preparing for a few broken ribs and some more bruises to add to the slowly healing ones I already had.

It was probably a bad idea to associate with Sam after that, but something about the kid was almost addicting. Though the bad experience I'd had earlier with that other new kid weren't really helping my situation.

I had four classes with Sammich in total, not including religion, which I didn't. I figured if I wanted to have people shove their beliefs down my throat and tell me I'm a sinner who's going to Hell, I would have been better to have just stayed at home. Sam though, he was a different story. There was something interesting in the way he so aptly listened to the teacher, the way he closed his eyes and mouthed the words when we were supposed to pray. I'd never seen someone so intent in religion; well, someone normal anyway. Margaret AKA Maggie Brent didn't really count as normal. It made me want to get inside Sam's head and figure out _what_ the _hell_ he was thinking.

In the last class of the day, which was also the fourth class I had with Sam, I decided to ask him.

"Can I ask you what you were praying about?"

For a moment, I was sure that I'd somehow offended him. His expression could only be described as prissy and bitch faced, before it softened into something like uncertainty.

It only took two words for me to have another oh-fuck moment. When Sammy frowned and whispered, "My brother." I almost fell out of my chair. Actually, I _did_ fall out of my chair, but I think we can afford to lose that little detail.

Because it took me _that long_ to make the connection.

Dean Winchester, the same Dean Winchester who was in my Social class, the same Dean Winchester who I couldn't figure out if I'd rather hug or stab in the face, was the older brother of our very own Sammy Winchester.

I never said I was perceptive, but I think I could add mentally damaged to the list. And I was pretty sure that the concussion I'd received a few weeks ago hadn't entirely healed yet.

Cynically, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I wondered just how damaged I really was, and how normal I even deserved to be. It was in these kinds of moments that I asked myself, if I had had a normal childhood, with my family and friends and had actually cared about _life_ in general, how I would have grown up differently. Would I have been another Jesus-freak like Margaret? Or would I have been the stuck-up small town cheerleader with too many boyfriends and not enough excuses? Oh, I know! Maybe I would have been the creepy Goth chick intent on selling her soul to the Devil out of unnecessary, self-pitying teenage angst.

Yeah, all of those options sounded better than my reality.

Sam was staring at me curiously, probably wondering why the hell I was still sitting on the floor, but my head was heavy and vague at the moment, and I couldn't quite remember the proper way to haul my body back into the chair. Maybe I hit my head on the way down, but I couldn't be sure. It was entirely possibly that it was my concussion acting up again.

"So," I slowly drawled, climbing lithely back into my chair. "Dean. He's your brother, right?"

There was an awkward pause during where I refused to look at Sam, instead choosing to study my hands with way more attention than necessary. I only glanced over when I heard a choked gasp escape from Sam's throat.

"You've met him?" The look Sam gave me was somewhere in between horror and anguish—I wasn't sure whether to laugh or comfort him. Then I swear I could see his face turn green. Sam choked out, "Oh god, he hit on you, didn't he?"

I couldn't hold back my laughter, but luckily my peers loud enough already that my hysterics went unnoticed. "Only just slightly." I wrinkled my nose in disgust, emulating Sammich's own expression with an effortless perfection.

I just hoped that Sam hadn't seen the uncertainty flicker briefly in my eyes, and that he would never have to know that Dean hitting on me was probably the first time in my life I felt . . . like just another person.

_Pathetic_, I chided myself.

Something had changed in Sam's eyes when I finally looked back at him. His expression was guarded now, slightly angry with a hint of sadness. Or maybe I was just imagining it all and there was nothing there at all. That happened a lot, actually—seeing things that weren't there. Because when I looked again, the only thing present on Sam's face was a small smile.

Great. I was going to be the freak again. I'd hoped Sam wouldn't notice for at least a couple of days.

Right now, I just wanted to curl up into a ball and go to sleep, but I knew that no matter what happened tonight, I would definitely not be getting any sleep. Part of me wanted to blame Sam for that, after the snide glance that Kevin had given me—a silent promise—I knew it was in no way Sam's fault that my 'father' was going to beat me tonight. As much as I was loathing my 'study session' tomorrow with Dean, I'd rather do that for the next five years than go home today. I'd put up with Dean and his flirting and his smartass attitude just to get away from my life for an hour or two.

No, I was going to go home, walk through the door, possibly take five steps and then feel the sting of Jack's belt rake down my back. I figured by tomorrow morning, I'd be lucky if I could crawl, let alone walk.

I pushed those thoughts from my mind with practised ease.

The rest of class passed without incident, though it was immediately clear that Sammy was, in no way, going to become a successful artist. Our current project in class was to create a self-portrait. The majority of the class was spent trying to teach Sam to draw anything that even remotely resembled a human face. The closest we got was a bloated teardrop shape.

"I'm no good at this," Sam grumbled, tossing down his pencil without much effort. "This is stupid." I laughed softly.

"You're right," I agreed, attempting to erase the ever-darkening lines—without much success. "This _is_ stupid." _But at least it's halfway normal._

The hesitant smile Sam gave in response made me think that maybe he understood.

**A/N: **_**I should probably apologize for taking so long to write this chapter, but . . . I found Tumblr. I can't apologize. And in my defense, I hate this chapter. Absolutely loathe it because it's horrible and I HATE FILLER CHAPTERS. The next one will be better, I promise.**_

_***~*Courtney*~***_


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